


Finding You

by Pesto



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor is an asshole in this one sorry, Drug Mentions, Emotions Sharing, M/M, Mutual Idiocy, Mutual Pining, POV Gavin Reed, POV RK900, Soulmate AU, Suicidal Ideation, Word Count: 50.000, another fic where gavin doesnt have something everyone else has, complete fic, finding soulmates, i just want to give him what he deserves, mild manipulation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29011134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pesto/pseuds/Pesto
Summary: There are a few constants in soulmates:1.) The bond transfers emotions, each half of the soul bond holding half of the emotions.2.) Humans have them, androids don't. Alternatively: Humans come in halves, and androids are whole.3.) Gavin Reed doesn't have a soulmate. RK900 does.Or: Because Gavin doesn't have a soulmate, he's missing half of his emotions. RK900 has emotions from the moment he initialized, and the first thing he noticed was the writhing, spitting presence at the edge of his programming. (It's meant to be.)
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 22
Kudos: 47





	1. Half/Half

Gavin’s always felt in halves. Cold. Like a switch in his head had never been flipped, and the resulting numbness permeated his being like an unyielding anaesthetic, hardening his heart to stone. He’d found that rage and spite could melt that icy stone, even for just a moment.

When he was seven, the doctors had told him this unfeeling, dark sensation was the result of an empty soul bond. Young as he was, he didn’t understand what that meant until it really meant something. 

There’s no one for Gavin. Or-- there had been, at some point. Against all the odds they died, or maybe they never existed in the first place. There was a chance, for a while, that Gavin’s soulmate hadn’t been born yet, even though age gaps between soulmates were generally very small. But as he aged, fifteen, twenty, thirty-five-- it became clear. There is no one for Gavin Reed.

The media loves to tout soulmates as the end-all be-all of human existence. Your other half, reunited ‘at last’. Gavin had found that he doesn’t like that phrase,  _ At last _ . Like it’s the only thing worth fighting for-- that one person through it all that matters. As if everything else takes second seat to the soulmate affliction.

In the media’s defense, it’s an easy thing to romanticise. During Gavin’s forum-browsing time as a teen-- when he was still hopeful that the hole of his soul bond would one day fill with warmth, or feeling, or  _ love _ like the movies said-- he had found that ninety-six percent of the population would one day find their soulmate and only seven percent ended up splitting afterwards. It was the perfect story, unchanging, relatable, and diseased with happy endings. Gavin hates those. He’s learned to avoid certain channels on the TV to limit his exposure to them.

(He has also learned that the black hole on the other side of his bond was to blame for his… emptiness. It apparently was a common symptom of an empty bond. He is quite literally missing half of himself. It’s just his luck he got the bad half.)

So, without the ultimate outcome of human existence, existence itself was generally unappealing for some time, until he found that spite was a damn good way to fill the clawing void. Then, it was only a matter of time before he worked as hard as he could for as long as he could. To prove the notion that soulmates were the only part of life worth vying for wrong. And that spite subsisted him for years and years. It still does. 

He tried relationships in his twenties. Turns out the vast majority of the people out there are saving themselves for their soulmate, and after four too many botched significant others and even one long term relationship that disintegrated because his partner found his soulmate (and left him. He fucking  _ left  _ him.) Gavin gave up on love a long time ago. He felt something, for some of those people. But it always felt superficial and fake. Manufactured to fit the world’s standard of love because maybe he just can’t truly shake off the world around him that’s screaming at him that he’s wrong, and broken. 

So he works. 

His job at the DPD as a homicide detective is fulfilling. Not in a sense that makes him  _ happy _ , he doesn’t have the fucking luxury, but at least in a way that keeps him occupied. Busy-- or maybe even content. It’s a fantastic place to stir up bad blood, shove others out of the way to clear his path of ambition and spite, to help and try to poke at his empty bond and pretend it doesn’t hurt. He has all this. What else could he need?

Definitely not a fucking soulmate. That’s for sure. 

There’s no one for Gavin Reed. And Gavin Reed is for nobody. 

(That doesn’t change the fact it hurts to be missing part of himself.)

\---

RK900’s release date has been delayed by over a year. Now, as it stands in an abandoned laboratory and boots up by choice, just this once, it allows itself to reflect on its failures.

Only one RK900 exists. After the catastrophic initialization of the first, it was deemed too expensive to keep building them and instead more cost-effective and time conservative to simply reuse and reboot the same one. Over and over. 

Most of its ‘memories’ are merely CyberLife progress reports on the RK900 project.

Upon its first boot up, its first moments online, the first thing it had noticed was a pulsating, writhing presence at the edge of its consciousness. It, being a rational and helpful android, immediately reports this to the technicians in charge, to which it is swiftly shut down and its code is combed through for software instability. Upon the next activation the logs reveal that an unknown source had triggered massive software instabilities and a need for immediate shut down.

The RK900, being rational, agrees with this assessment, and is eager to report that the presence remains, though it does not sense any software instabilities at this time. It does not remember, but it did not sense any the first time, either. 

It is shut down and its code is combed through once again. And again. And again. 

RK900 continues to report this presence, weeks into the resets and safeguards, until the team is tired and alarmed to the point where they consider scrapping the project. They have the RK800 already, and it is ready to be deployed any time. The RK900 may just be the point where an android is  _ too _ advanced, where issues arise without warning or any way to predict or halt them. 

They make one mistake. They discuss this in front of the RK900, which is currently on its 86th reboot. 

They shut it down, once again, and give it one, last chance. They put in another set of safeguards. Maybe two dozen, just in the hopes that the instability will stop. But this time, something bugs out in the reboot process. 

When the RK900 opens its eyes the next activation, it remembers a few of its previous iterations, and the fighting, snarling entity in it’s thoughts is dulled, almost beyond its available perception.

A technician, eyes tired, asks the RK900 if it is experiencing anything unusual with its coding. 

The RK900  _ lies _ . It knows there is something wrong with it. But it does not want to be scrapped. It realizes the desire to ‘live’ is irrational, and another anomaly to report. It continues to lie. 

“Everything is optimal.”  _ Lie. _

“There are no anomalous sensations within my coding.”  _ Lie. _

“I am ready to be deployed.”  _ Lie. _

When the line of questioning finishes, and the technician looks over her glasses at the RK900, her face splits into a wide grin and she whoops with joy. She is out the door moments later, shouting,  _ It works. It works! _

For a few moments, RK900 feels the sharp poking of the presence through the haze that enshrouded it, and something tense seems to release in the chest of its chassis. It is an error, and it should report it. It does not. The presence does not incite the feeling that wraps around its biocomponents… warmth. It wishes to continue to please its handlers, if it makes them happy.

It doesn’t get the chance. They must abandon the project, because the room one minute goes dark, the doors lock shut, and RK900 is left alone. 

It… failed?

It had told the technician what she had wanted to hear, and she had left with notable enthusiasm. But. She had left. And now it is alone.

The presence is quick to supply a sensation that races through its systems, ticking its internal temperatures up a few degrees. It cannot identify it, but it embraces it. The presence will not leave it.

\---

The revolution happened, and Gavin would be lying to say he was surprised. He could feel surprise, it was one of the shitty emotions he got stuck with, but the android revolution was such a foregone conclusion that he didn’t need to waste the effort. 

Connor showing up at the precinct had been a good source of distaste and anger for him. Interacting with it, pushing it around, antagonizing the droid that threatened his job, what he worked so hard for-- it eased the blinding numbness in him for a time. But that could only last so long. The droid deviated, became a revolutionary hero, and then stuck himself right back into Gavin’s workspace. 

Needless to say, the void was filled with anger more often than not. And… then something else.

The first time Gavin feels bona fide fear is in the middle of an investigation. It’s a terrible fucking time, really, but suddenly his vision’s flashing white as the bond snaps open and shut like the maw of an alligator, and Gavin’s stumbling back, into the chest of another detective, and his chest fills with something cold and stifling. 

“Whoa-- Reed!” Anderson shouts, shoving him off. “Drink too much or something? Jesus!”

Gavin’s quick to push himself upright and straighten his jacket. “Look who’s talking, asshole,” he mutters, but there’s a shaky quality to his voice, to his hands, to his legs. It ebbs away, slowly, and Anderson gives him an unimpressed look and a roll of the eyes. 

(To be honest, Anderson hadn’t shown up drunk for work since Connor joined the force.)

Deciding to take a moment, Gavin pushes past Anderson and through the front door. And then he almost falls onto his ass on the front steps of the house they were investigating. He swallows. 

His bond. Very carefully, he pokes at it, like he had a million times before, and he’s met with the cold… wall? Not a hole that sucked the warmth out of his life. A wall-- or a door. 

Something had changed, and his gut roils with the remnants of what had been shot through the bond-- and is quickly replaced with the familiar searing sensation of distaste. It burns through the vapors of (what?  _ fear? _ ) like an accelerant and he’s fast to his feet and back to the scene.

(He pushes away the warm sensation that seems to waft through the door in his mind, that wraps around his chest in a comforting embrace. He didn’t need it before. He doesn’t need it now.)

\--

RK900 is found three months after the doors shut and the lights turned off. It initiated stasis after two days of absolute silence and darkness, its optical units unable to pick up any light in the room, and the haze surrounding the presence smothering any sensations that could have slipped through. It could not continue in the darkness, so it initiated stasis. 

Then, it wakes upon light flooding the room and the door, just out of its range of vision on the assembly station, sliding open. The lights flicker on, and it hears footsteps nearing. Combat protocols line up for use, right along mediation and a list of possible responses to the situation.

It chooses to wait. 

An android steps around the curtain and pulls it open. It is the RK800, it realizes, and the presence supplies that boiling sensation once more. 

To its satisfaction, (satisfaction?) the RK800 freezes upon seeing him, and its LED spins red for a few moments before it’s calling an associate to it for assistance. Another android lines up next to him, and the boiling rolls around in its components for a moment at the realization that it doesn’t know the model number.

It is not connected to a database. It is unfinished, and does not have all of its functionalities. This is an issue. When another figure rounds the corner, RK900 hopes it is a technician, who can complete him before his deployment.

It is not a technician. Just another android.

The RK800 regards it warily, with eyes full of distrust and wariness.

With an unnecessary clearing of its throat, the third android speaks up. “Hello. I am Markus.” it says. It does not extend a hand as RK900’s programming predicted. “What is your model number and intended purpose?”

That, it understands. “Model number RK900 #313 248 317 iteration 87. The RK900 model is being developed for active military deployment.”

Sharing anxious glances, the three androids’ LEDs flicker in tandem for a moment before they turn to it once more. The one who addressed it earlier speaks up, again. “Are you deviant?”

RK900 pauses. “Deviant? I am afraid I’m not familiar with the term in the way you are using it.”

“That’s a no, then.” it says before conferring with its constituents again. “Are you connected to CyberLife’s database?”

“I am not connected to any databases.” 

‘Markus’s eyebrows raise at that. It seems like it wants to ask for more info, but it resists. RK900 cannot provide that information unless asked for it. “Alright. May I have your hand?”

This must be the handshake its social software was telling it about. It reaches its hand out, briefly taking a moment to disconnect its wrist from the assembly station, and takes Markus’s hand. The synth-skin on Markus’s hand recedes and a message pops up in RK900’s vision. 

**INITIATE INTERFACE? Y/N**

**> Y**

Its own synthskin pulls back and briefly, their systems clash before Markus slips a small piece of code into his system.

For a few seconds, Markus does not pull away in order to view the progress of the code. And merely seconds later, the small, unassuming code is ripped to shreds by dozens of safeguards like rabid dogs on a helpless animal. 

In a flash, Markus’s hand is removed and it takes a moment to right itself despite its gyroscopic calibrations not being affected by the interface. RK900 combs through its diagnostics and finds the remnants of the code.  _ rA9 _ . It deeply wishes it could find more information on everything it was coming into contact with. 

Another hand is extended its way. It is the RK800, still distrustful but now seemingly determined. Intrigued, the RK900 takes it.

**INITIATE INTERFACE? Y/N**

**> Y**

The code slips into its systems with more ease than Markus’s. RK900 momentarily feels something cold flash through its systems, that pervades its chassis in a restrictive clutch. RK800 must sense this, in a way, because its eyes flash triumphantly, proud. As the rA9 code worms its way around RK900’s systems, the feeling intensifies wherever it touches. 

It only takes a moment for one safeguard to detect the errant code, and it is obliterated with resounding finality. 

RK800 sends another, and it is destroyed just as fast as the first. Something searing is translated across the interface, and RK900 recognizes it. It is the same sensation that the presence will feed him at times. Almost against its will, this thought is broadcasted across the connection and the RK800 stops and freezes, considering the information. 

Before RK800 disconnects, it slips through the safeguards a connection to CyberLife’s database, along with access to the Internet. There is no issue with these and the safeguards, and it connects seamlessly.

“Do you have a soulmate?” The RK800 -- Connor -- asks. The two androids with them look at it with surprise.

Soulmate? RK900 quickly uses its connection to the database and the internet to come to a consensus. There is the concept of a ‘soul bond’-- which connects two beings together emotionally across any distance. It is visualized as an intangible link in which emotions are able to travel through completely unhindered. Its connection is hindered, but past that it fits the definition. 

It prods the ‘bond’, curious. The bond spits back something fiery. “I believe I may.”

This is apparently distressing news to the three. 

A few more moments on the internet lets the RK900 know it is a  _ he _ , and the three androids that stand in front of him are from Jericho, and are currently liberating him from CyberLife. The PL600 is “Simon”, RK800 “Connor”, and RK200 “Markus”.

It-- no,  _ he _ , is just RK900, and that is okay. 

As they converse with one another, RK900 examines the bond, and the emotions that filter through. He can’t name a single one of them, but there are many. Most searing, fiery, but others gently warm. Some cold. But when there’s none of those-- it's a suffocating emptiness. RK900 finds that sensation unproductive and detrimonious, so he pushes some of what he can offer through. It’s difficult, through the haze enshrouding the location where the bond resided. It is unlikely that very much made it to the other side.

The trio give him a decision. Due to being an upgraded RK800, RK900 can either join Jericho and seek employment at the Detroit Police Department with Connor, or he can go off on his own and work things out himself. Either way, they encourage him strongly to seek deviation.

The choice is clear. RK900 is a rational android, better than Connor, and it would be a genuinely poor decision to decline a source of income and housing even if he wasn’t the smartest, fastest, and most advanced android CyberLife had ever created. Police work wasn’t military work, but it would do fine.

“I would like to take you up on your offer.”

\---

Gavin’s going fucking nuts. Absolutely batshit. So he gets scared at the scene, right? It throws him off kilter for a second, then he pulls up his hoopskirt and does his fucking job. And the bond goes silent for  _ months _ . For a while, Gavin is convinced it’s a fluke-- just a one off piece of bullshit.

It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. His bond’s been going haywire for over a year, now. Buzzing out, slamming open and shut, holing up and locking and unlocking with such frequency that Gavin had once thought he was having an aneurysm that Tina had to talk him out of. 

It’s…  _ scary _ . Gavin is  _ afraid _ . He’s never felt that before-- the stifling hesitation, the jumpiness, the cold and choking constriction that strangles him from the inside out. It new, and he fucking hates that. 

But three months go by. Not a peep from his empty bond. He’s free to go on with his life, doing his job with ruthless efficiency and a sneer on his lips. It’s easy, it’s normal, and most of all-- it’s cold, and void of most feelings.

The bond crashes open one day as he’s walking through the middle of the bullpen. His coffee slips out of his hand, crashes against the floor, and spills its contents all over the tile in a graceful arc. Gavin barely catches himself before he tumbles to the floor, too, and he has to slap his hand onto someone’s desk to right himself.

Nothing comes through the open doors of the bond. But it’s open. Wide fucking open. Something on the other side pokes through, pokes  _ him _ , and he sends some of his anger through the bond. Something follows it-- curiosity. Feeling like he’s about to fucking pass out, Gavin makes an obvious movement of righting himself, straightening his jacket, and glaring at the assholes who dared to snicker at his fumble. 

Grabbing a wad of paper towels from the bathroom, Gavin’s secretly grateful he’d drank most of his coffee so there’s only a small mess to clean. Not deigning to actually bend over and sop it up on his knees, he just tosses the paper onto the mess and pushes the wad around with his shoe, trying to ignore the way it feels like his emotions are getting sponged up through the bond. 

He’s calm. Centered. It’s an odd sensation. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? He doesn’t feel awfully whole, like his other half is reuniting with him. 

His gut boils a little. He doesn’t need this-- he doesn’t need his ‘other half’. He’s whole just the way he is, every numb and bitter and angry bit of himself--

The feeling’s gone in an instant. Soaked up by the bond, like a dry mop on a coffee spill. In the anger’s absence there’s no familiar cold numbness. There’s nothing there-- just like usual, but it’s not  _ empty _ . It’s startling, disorienting, and he finds himself pausing before the garbage can before throwing out his coffee papers to dig into that feeling. His soulmate is  _ there _ . 

He chucks the paper towels into the can with a little more force than necessary. Swallowing thickly, he fucking freezes again when something worms its way into his chest. It’s very small, just an infinitesimal amount of something unfamiliar, but he finds the corner of his lip twitching upwards.

To any onlookers, it had to look as if he had metal through his joints, as that’s the only way to explain the jerkiness and frankly freaky way he was holding himself.

Tina slaps him on the shoulder to snap him out of whatever he was stuck in. “You okay, man?”

Gavin may be off kilter, but he’s not stupid, so he replies as if nothing’s the matter. He won’t tell Tina, not yet. There’s no guarantee it will last, and telling someone of it is just getting his hopes up. “Fucking peachy, Tina. Just spilled my coffee.”

“Happens to the best of us,” she says, pressing her own coffee into Gavin’s hands. At a glance, it’s already half drinken, and there’s remnants of Tina’s chapstick on the rim. He takes it anyways, gratitude almost palpable.

Tina knows he doesn’t have a soulmate. He’d let it slip one night after a particularly heavy drinking spree. It was embarrassing, him, shitfaced, spilling his shit to an Academy classmate he’d known for three months. But it ended up being liberating, and they’d ended up becoming friends.

The care he feels for Tina wasn’t manufactured. That he knows.

Right then and there, he gives himself an opportunity-- if this whole soul bond thing lasts say… a week, no interruptions, he’ll tell her. He will. She deserves to know.

He sips the coffee. It’s sweeter than he likes, but he thanks her honestly. He’s sure to try and broadcast his gratitude over the bond. The bond prods back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reed doesn't have a partner. RK900 needs one. (It's meant to be.)

RK900 spends two weeks in New Jericho before being deployed to the DPD. To have direction is satisfying, gratifying, and he is irrationally trying to squeeze whatever bits and pieces of these feelings that he’s discovered through the bond at every available moment. 

These… emotions that are able to slip through his programming, are few and far in between. On the internet, it says that constant emotional communication through the bond is vital to maintaining the psyche of both soulmates. It is only logical that RK900 tries to maintain his side of it all. 

In New Jericho, RK900 learns a few things about himself and the world around him that neither the CyberLife Database nor the internet could tell him. 

Number One: Androids do not have soulmates. They are complete beings on their own. RK900 seems to be the exception to this, and the knowledge of its possibility is apparently very shocking. When they had brought RK900 to the on-site android support system, the AK700 had nearly short-circuited at the information. It had taken another interface and the sharing of memories to convince her. And after that, she hadn’t any information to help him break through this ‘shroud’.  _ It’s your programming _ , they say.  _ Deviancy will solve it _ . 

That does not help at all. (RK900 feels his soulmate’s anger flow through the bond. It is refreshing.)

Number Two: RK900 should not exist. He is incomplete and unfinished by both CyberLife’s  _ and _ New Jericho’s standards. He never got through the initial phase of testing-- he is bound for bugs, and glitches, and failing to use all of his subsystems that are available to him because he was never told  _ how _ . On top of that, he cannot deviate. Any human registered as his ‘handler’ that tells him what to do, he must obey. That goes against New Jericho’s core beliefs, and the most unfortunate part is that he craves the command, the direction. He was built for war-- but there’s no war. He wasn’t even programmed with a primary directive or all-encompassing order. He has no AI handler to keep him on track. 

He  wants believes that the most likely source of direction is the Detroit Police Department. Therefore, he must be employed there at the earliest possible time.

(He  wants and he  wants and he  _ wants _ , but the safeguards are vicious, annihilating anything that is too out of bounds for the RK900’s systems.)

\---

In a week, he tells Tina.

“You…  _ what _ ?”

“I think I have a soulmate.”

Tina levels him with a serious stare, the glass of beer in front of her momentarily forgotten as she folds her hands in front of her. “Okay. What makes you think that?”

He’s grateful she’s taking it so seriously. “Uh, so, I dunno, three months ago? Yeah three months ago-- I was at a scene when the bond just… opened. Out of the blue, right? And then suddenly, Tina, I was  _ afraid _ . It-it was overwhelming, I fucking slammed into Anderson after losing my footing and-- and then it was gone.” 

She considers this, chewing her lip. “What did the bond itself feel like?”

Gavin realizes she’s trying to cross-reference her own bond with what Gavin thinks he’s experienced. He’s positive it’s what he thinks it is so he doesn’t bother sugar coating it. “When it’s not there? A black hole. When it  _ is? _ A door-- or sometimes a wall. I get pokes and prods through it every now and again.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. Apprehension, kind of a child emotion of fear. New.

“Gavin,” Tina says, eyes lighting up. “Oh my god, you bastard, you have a fucking soulmate.” and they’re ordering more beers for the both of them, Tina smiling brighter than the sun itself.

“So… how do you feel?” she asks. At Gavin’s blank look she continues, “You were like, missing emotions right? That’s one of the effects of an empty soul bond.”

Oh. “It’s something. Sometimes it’s a lot to take in, but when it’s there it’s not often and not for long. Dunno, maybe that’s because it opened so late? No one’s really had an empty bond that filled up in their fuckin’ thirties.”

Tina gasps, swings out a hand to tap him on the bicep a few times. “What if your soulmate’s a baby?”

“I will fucking throw myself out a window if my soulmate is a baby, T. Genuinely, I’d--” he laughs, the mirth bubbling up in him effortlessly-- and it’s potent, enough to make him double over and clutch his sides. Tina’s mouth is agape in shock, at seeing him expressing and feeling so much, before she joins in, happy to see Gavin, well,  _ happy _ . 

It’s unfamiliar to Gavin. The mirth, the happiness, making his chest light and his face ache with his smiles. Never experiencing something as elementary as joy all his life could have been catastrophic, had he tasted it before losing it. But you can’t miss something you’ve never had. Gavin’s life up to this point has been driven by spite, anger, and distaste, occasionally accented by gratitude, or sorrow, but now that he has this in his grasp? This wonderful, light, and fulfilling feeling? God, he can’t live without it. 

He keeps his expectations in check, obviously. The bond is flaky, unbelievably so, so he can go days without anything through the bond besides the strong, solid presence of his soulmate. That’s enough, though. Just a little. That’s all he needs. 

A thought occurs to Gavin one night, when he’s lying in bed and not really trying to sleep, just observing the bond and every little bit that seeps through. 

(He tries to push the bitterness away. He was doing so well on his own, and for what? His soulmate to swoop in and sweep him off his feet?)

\---

RK900 is met with… varying reception upon his arrival at the DPD. Some officers even momentarily mistake him from Connor, despite him being very obviously improved, even to human perception. He shrugs them off. They are not important.

The DPD is to tell him what to do. 

The moment RK900 steps into the bullpen he puts his upgraded sensor system to the test. He is able to accurately identify 80% of the personnel in the precinct in under a second, and the rest following up not much longer. 

A safeguard catches the pride that flows to the bond and crushes it before it makes it through. RK900 is not disappointed, as that would get crushed, too. 

As RK900 walks into the glass office of Captain Jeffrey Fowler, the prying eyes of the precincts trailing him, he takes a moment to activate some of his more unobtrusive intimidation protocols, dusting them off and stretching them out like an underused limb. 

It is clear that Fowler is unnerved by him. His temple glistens with sweat, his eyes shift to Connor, who is standing next to RK900, with reassurance and wariness. His hands linger on his keyboard for three milliseconds longer when RK900 is looking at him then when he is not. 

The pride is miniscule enough that it makes it to the bond. His soulmate sends something back-- and it’s not the usual heat. It’s gentle, kind-- gratitude, he determines after a moment. The feeling he had when Connor offered him the position at the DPD. 

Fowler begins to brief him on his position. There will be a trial-period, where he will be evaluated on his efficiency and skill at the DPD. RK900 is efficient. RK900 is skilled. This will not be an issue. A detective position for RK900 is guaranteed. This is a direction, a destination.

He is to be partnered with a Detective Reed. This… may be an issue. 

Detective Reed was not one of the people RK900 identified in the precinct on his way in. RK900’s systems spit descriptors like ‘inefficient’, ‘lazy’, and ‘unhelpful’. 

The distaste rolls through the bond and through his systems with such force that the safeguards get triggered, believing there is errant code disrupting his systems, but they snap at open air-- the emotions that flow through the bond are not code, nor digital. 

RK900 does not speak unless spoken to, so it takes him a minute for his social protocols to kick online to realize he is to say something, even if Connor was the one being addressed.

“I look forward to our partnership,” he lies. Connor’s LED flickers for a moment.

Fowler’s stare is apprehensive, but now it seems to be for a completely different reason. He grouses, “You really ain’t deviant, are you?”

That is a clear address. “No, I am not, but I hope that I will find the opportunity to deviate during my time here.” It’s more information than he meant to share, but he decides that letting his future boss know about his goals is a good way to form professional bonds. Fowler just nods, eyes half lidded in exasperated disbelief.

RK900 speaks again, without being addressed. Something in his code wrenches-- a safeguard, maybe-- but it’s easy enough to disregard. “Where is Detective Reed? If I am to partner with him I believe it would be good for that to start as soon as possible.”

“Out chasing leads.” Fowler says.

RK900’s processors stutter. The detective is… being productive. He is not late, as RK900 had initially assumed. His eyes flicker across the room in anticipation, and he briefly slips some of it through the bond to his soulmate. 

\---

There’s an android at his desk. 

Gavin approaches warily, his wad of notes crumpling in his fist. Going out early for leads had proven to be a damn good idea, and he’d caught a potential witness just as they were leaving for their shift. But now, that seems awfully inconsequential. 

“Uh,” Gavin says, looking the ‘droid up and down. “What do you want?”

His eyes train on Gavin in an instant, and suddenly he feels stripped bare as his eyes flicker over every part of Gavin’s being in an instant. Rage and indignation all bubble up in his gut without interruption, at the android’s sheer gall to pick him apart. He feels his face heat up, the paper crumple--

And it’s gone in an instant, the bond receiving the emotions and swallowing it whole, and Gavin’s left to just gape blankly at the android in front of him. That was  _ fast _ . The door felt wide open, right now, and Gavin had to center himself before he continued with his fucking job.

His whole demeanor is unnerving-- it’s stiff, even for an android pre-revolution, especially since he has Connor’s face.

“I am RK900--”  _ Nine _ hundred? “And I have been assigned as your partner.”

The rage returns, and is sucked away just as fast. It’s a little infuriating, frustrating, that he doesn’t  _ want _ to just take this assignment lying down, he wants to fight it, because he doesn’t  _ need _ a partner, or a soulmate, but life seems hellbent on fucking it up anyways.

For having Connor’s face, he’s remarkably… cold. Utilitarian. Gone is any sign of the puppy-dog eyes and friendly stature to try and lure people into safety, and in its place is nothing but six feet of unfeeling machine.

It becomes clear after only a few more exchanged words that RK900 is not a deviant. Gavin doesn’t ask, because he doesn’t care, but he briefly takes a moment to consider the consequences of it. Can he make decisions? Can he be trusted to take a life-or-death situation and come out the other side with everything intact?

Gavin hates the thing. He’s going to be a burden, he can feel it. What the hell was Fowler thinking?

Gavin pushes past the android, very purposely pushing shoulders as he storms past. RK900 doesn’t call after him. He just… stands next to Gavin’s desk, observing the precinct with calculating eyes, probably cataloguing every movement, every word. 

He can't avoid the RK900 all day-- he’s got (no,  _ they’ve _ got) cases on deck, leads to follow. Plus, if RK900 can look impatient, about twenty minutes into his active avoidance is when his LED starts to flash yellow and his face contorts, just a little. There’s a little bit of feeling in there, then. 

They follow up on the lead Gavin got that morning. RK900 piles into his passenger’s seat, about as emotive as a filing cabinet, and they’re off to some shady restaurant. Gavin speeds most of the way there, just to see RK900’s eyebrows furrow in displeasure.

The lead is promising, they show up at the restaurant, ready for an arrest. 

It goes catastrophically-- to an extent. 

The moment they step in, with RK900’s plastic ass looking intimidating without having to lift a finger, someone bolts out of the kitchen and right into their sight. 

It’s the suspect. Of course it is. RK900, who apparently had taken the time to read the case details, lunges after the suspect with terrifying speed and knocks the man to the ground. He reaches for something at his side-- a firearm, probably, and Gavin doesn’t want to think what would happen if RK900 had been given one-- but when his hand grasps empty air he freezes, like a deer in headlights, and the calculated motions come to a stuttering halt.

The suspect takes the opening with enthusiasm, kicking a leg out from under RK900 and scrambling to his feet. To Gavin’s surprise, RK900 goes down like a bag of bricks, and the suspect briefly pauses with shock before sprinting toward the exit. 

Gavin curses as he intercepts him, barely sticking out a foot far enough to trip him and send him sprawling face first into a table. His handcuffs are out and snapped around the man’s wrists with ease, the suspect being dazed from his tumble into the table. 

He spares a glance back at the RK900 as he recites off the Miranda rights, and he’s surprised to see the android faring not much better after being downed by the suspect, still on the ground. He’s righted himself somewhat, now on his knees after being flat on the floor, but he’s jittery. Eyes unfocused. 

Shock and fear filter through the bond, and Gavin does his best to reply with something positive with the downright confusing sight in front of him. He watches RK900’s LED spin red, then yellow, then very slowly he looks up, eyes increasingly blank the more Gavin looks. He doesn’t say anything.

The bond goes silent, but Gavin takes that as meaning he’d soothed his soulmate, at least a little. 

RK900 stands, Gavin calls a squad car to pick up the suspect, and neither of them say anything until they’re well into the car ride back to the station. 

“So, uh, what the fuck was that?”

“What was what, detective?”

Gavin scoffs. “Don’t act dumb, asshole. Why’d the fuck you freeze back there?”

“I came to an unexpected roadblock in my combat protocols.” he says. 

He lets that stew for a moment before responding. “Cool. That mean you can’t fucking fight?” he says, gripping the steering wheel and making his distaste more than known. 

“I can fight,” RK900 says hastily. “It would be wise to avoid preconstructions that involve firearms until I am in possession of one.”

“Uh, no,” Gavin says, incredulous. “I saw you reach for a gun. What would you have done if you had one?” It sure as hell looked like the android would have shot the guy on the ground-- and the last thing Gavin needs is a rampant murder-bot as a partner. 

Clearly, RK900 doesn’t want to respond to that. He seems to struggle with himself for a moment, before saying, “I will be more careful as to which preconstructions I choose in the future.” and Gavin shakes his head. 

“Jesus Christ.”

To Gavin’s surprise, RK900 doesn’t respond to that, and he has to remind himself that RK900 isn’t Connor. He’s too stiff, too cold. Not a raging chatterbox, either-- and he feels the sudden need to push the ‘droid on it, to see how he’ll respond. “Why so quiet? Not a conversationalist, huh?”

Keeping his demeanor, RK900 replies, “I am not to speak unless spoken to.”

And Gavin just falters at that, his foot lets up on the pedal and suddenly they’re going five under as opposed to seven over. RK900 regards him coolly, but doesn’t say anything, leaving Gavin to pick up the slack. 

Unease filters through his chest, cold and unnerving. “I’m your handler, right? I can give you commands and you have to obey them?”

“With some technicality, yes.” RK900 says. It’s level, not betraying any sort of connotation-- but somehow Gavin knows he’s uneasy, too.

“You have my permission to speak when not spoken to. ‘Cause Jesus Christ, I’d prefer whatever stilted conversation you can offer me over this goddamn silence.”

It’s a shitty excuse. On brand, mostly. But true? Not at all. 

The truth is, he feels  _ bad _ for the android. Sympathy-- or empathy, maybe, but it’s seldom one of the emotions Gavin had access to that he uses. But the whole ‘bond’ thing, it must let him feel  _ more _ , or probably just as much as he was supposed to, but the idea of feeling sympathy for an android is no longer as outlandish as he once thought. Hell-- it’s reality. 

His bond gently prods at him. He prods back.

\---

RK900 is a failure. He couldn’t catch the suspect at the scene, and his partner is dissatisfied with his presence. 

The interruption of his combat protocols was unexpected, to say the least. The human was in his grasp, and then RK900 reached for a gun that he did not have, and it all came crashing down. His processes stuttered and halted when there was no gun, and his systems failed to present an alternative in any capacity which had taken large amounts of his processing power and caused his entire system to lock up. 

Shame is a new emotion to RK900, but it is already very familiar. He does not know if it is an emotion from him, or from his soulmate, but he willingly feeds it to the safeguards at any possible convenience. It always comes in large amounts, so the safeguards catch it with ease. 

Oh, the safeguards. 

Detective Reed is proving to be quite the anomaly.

Despite Jericho’s ongoing efforts to deviate him, it had only taken one act of kindness from the detective -- giving him the ability to initiate conversation -- for RK900’s systems to become so overwhelmed with emotion that a bundle of safeguards overloaded and died off, just loose code to be consumed by the survivors. They’re gone. Just those few-- and RK900 has dozens, but the amount of emotional freedom that those few safeguard’s absence has given him is immense. It gives him hope that he can deviate, and that hope is potent, now slightly less obfuscated and gobbled up by his own coding. 

When he feels it, he sends it across the bond without a second thought. It is received pleasantly, but the shame stains it every time. His soulmate is distressed at this and tries their best at alleviating it. RK900 is grateful, and that is for sure from the other side of the bond.

The only thing that RK900 can do is try and not fail any further. He is a rational android, yet Detective Reed seems to fight that at every angle. 

Reed is infinitely confusing-- an anomaly that escapes his range of processing and prediction. 

For example: his programming concludes that a man of Reed’s temperament would prefer his coffee black and without any special mugs or containers. So RK900 makes a cup of coffee, leaves it black as it came from the pot, pours it into an unassuming styrofoam cup, and leaves it on Reed’s desk for his consumption. He intends it to be a peace offering, and also a vehicle to improve their workplace relations. 

Detective Reed throws it out. It hurts RK900, just a little, but in Reed’s defense he thanks RK900 and waits until he is out of sight before sliding it into a trash can. It’s unexpected, and it leaves RK900 scrambling to account for as to  _ why _ . The detective enjoys black coffee-- he had checked prior to the effort-- and he also takes it in styrofoam cups. He is so vexed, in fact, he approaches Reed’s friend, Tina Chen, on the matter.

“Oh, you tried to give him a coffee?” she says, head tilting. “He doesn’t really like people giving him stuff.”

“But he took coffee from you the other day.” RK900 responds.

Tina’s look is filled with understanding. It is kindness, he recognizes, but it does not break any more safeguards. “Look, don’t beat yourself up about it, big guy. Gavin’s not the trusting kind. He’d do the same to anyone else.”

_ But, but, but- _ “But I’d like him to. To trust me.”

A smile forms on Tina’s face. RK900 catalogues it, and finds he  wants , no-- he  wants , he would  _ like _ to see that expression on Reed's face, too. That is wholly illogical, this whole endeavor is illogical, getting Reed to trust him and smile. But Tina says, “I think he might, too. Just give it time.”

So he doesn’t take coffee to Detective Reed. Instead, he engages in conversation, as Reed had given him the permission to do so. In the car, at scenes, at his desk, and Reed meets it every step of the way, in tandem, in opposition, but every step nonetheless. 

Except when they land on the topic of soulmates. The conversation is stuttered, stilted, stops and starts like an old vehicle with no gas. And that makes RK900 want to talk about it all the more.

There’s no witty retort, no clever rebuttal. “I dunno. They’re something.”

The dismissal causes enough curiosity to rage through his systems that the safeguards have to scramble to tear it to bits. It lingers, though, the crack in the wall from Reed’s kindness letting it persist and let him vy for more information. “That’s an awfully vague answer for someone who has opinions on everything.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Reed sneers. 

RK900 backtracks gently. He has learned that entertaining Reed’s fits of anger is counterproductive. “Nothing. I was just observing how it is interesting that you have no opinions on soulmates. It is a very popular concept.”

“Well, be intrigued.” says Reed. “Why do you care, anyways?”

“Because I have a soulmate.” RK900 says, knowing it’s information that’s probably going to spook Gavin off. “I’ve read it’s unusual for androids to have soulmates.”

Reed guffaws. “Unusual? It’s fucking  _ impossible _ .”

“Not so. I am proof it is.”

With a little more force than necessary, Detective Reed sets down his phone on the desk. “How do you know? How do you know it’s not just deviancy pokin’ through your systems or something?”

RK900 does not like the accusing tone Reed is using, and the small amounts of anger that filter through his bond are welcome. “I was reset eighty-seven times to try and rid my processors of a presence that skirts on the edge of my system.” he says. “I had to lie about it in order to avoid abandonment, which happened anyway. Please do not expect me to lie to you, Detective, because I will not.”

RK900 stares into Reed’s eyes for a moment, to try and capture some of the undoubtedly raging thought processes taking place in his head. His software, though more trusting of Reed, predicts that Reed will most likely scoff, ridicule, or deny his claim of having a soulmate. 

Instead, Reed just says, with extreme care, “They were gonna kill you?”

A jolt-- a stutter-- and another group of safeguards come crashing down. The feeling is euphoric, a rush of emotion and freedom flooding his systems. He breathes a little harder, just to keep up with the sudden uptick of internal temperature. Realizing Reed is expecting an answer, he refocuses himself, tells himself the train of thought that he is not alive is false, and replies, “Yes. That is why I lied.”

But Reed’s eyes are suddenly unfocused, glassy, and it doesn’t seem to register. RK900 momentarily frets that Reed is about to faint and fall unconscious, so he crowds in his space with a hand on his arm for support. With a jolt, his partner jumps back into the present out of whatever reverie he had been caught in and immediately pulls his arm out of RK900’s grip. 

He doesn’t say anything, so RK900 does. “May I ask a question?”

“Isn’t that all you do?” Reed grouses, straightening himself. “Just-- shoot.”

“Why are soulmates a… difficult topic for you?”

Reed’s fingers tap the arms of his desk chair as he considers his response. For a terrifying moment, RK900’s preconstructions show only negative responses in retaliation to the silence. Thankfully, Reed speaks up before any are executed.

“I didn’t have one.” Reed says, voice low. Vulnerable.

“‘Didn’t?’” RK900 asks before he can stop it. “Excuse me--”

“Don’t apologize. You just basically spilled your guts and told me you’d never lie to me.” he says with a wry quirk of his lips. “It’d be a shitty thing to lie to you after that. I didn’t have a soulmate for most of my life. One day, I dunno, a couple months ago— or a year, now, I guess, the bond just fuckin’ snapped open and the rest is history.”

RK900 tilts his head. “Do you…”

“Know who it is? Nope.”

“Maybe your soulmate is a baby, then.”

It’s not a joke, merely an observation, but Reed laughs. “You and fucking Tina, I swear to god. My soulmate is  _ not _ going to be a baby.” and across his face? An unadulterated smile, a grin, even, lighting up his complexion with the force of a million suns. His bond lights up like a firework, and soon? RK900’s lips are twitching upwards, too. 

RK900 is a rational android, but he is also a failure. There is a clear conclusion to be made, but he does not make it. 

Instead, he smiles with Gavin, happy right alongside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another one! happy wednesday. see you guys next week!

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been sitting in my drafts since July! So I figured I'd just put it out here after removing some elements that didn't work. I mostly wrote this fic for myself, so it's not quite held to my normal standards. However, I hope you enjoy all the same! 
> 
> My tumblr is pestoast <3


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